This 'story' about a woman who paints books on men's bodies is a film for pseudo-intellectuals who believe the director has something meaningful to say, It is, however, unutterable nonsense whose split-screen techniques add nothing to the mise-en-scène (such as it is) and which frequently follows an aphorism with a clattering banality. Britain's Ewan McGregor, who spends most of his time looking awkward in the nude, somehow got mixed up in this as the bisexual lover of heroine Vivian Wu. Most of her inkwork goes down the plughole before the end, much like the film. Unlike most Peter Greenaway picture, this one, shot in Cinecolor, doesn't even look good.

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